


A Song Like Sunshine

by larklure



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 09:38:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9433316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larklure/pseuds/larklure
Summary: Jack is a journalist writing for a small magazine. He reviews local Providence bands, rates food, and generally just reports on his life in Providence's many rich communities. Bitty and Lardo form the band Acrylic Rabbit. They are very good. The rest, well, I haven't really figured that out yet.





	

_Roxanne you don't have to put on the red light_  
  
He feels the [music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jCGC1ghgLHQ&list=PLUWCxzxE9GxNOgLoJVElkj2BdtXauGiHe&index=1) before he’s able to open the thick metal door to the full time pub/part time open mic venue that he’d been haunting more and more recently. It's Thursday night at the Tub, the parking lot full and the streets equally occupied, and from the voice that greets Jack as he takes the first few steps into the poorly lit entry way, the mic is already hot.  
  
_Roxanne you don't have to wear that dress tonight_  
  
Jack has been to almost every open mic at the Tub since he'd discovered the place some two years ago in the midst of searching for a cheap apartment somewhere on the north side of Providence. The Tub’s in an area that wouldn't necessarily brand itself as a hipster community, but secretly Jack can’t deny that the five block square of bars, art galleries, self-owned movie theatres and public gardens has a distinct aesthetic going for it. The Tub itself is a favorite of Jack’s, he can sit at the back of the room, watch the people, and listen. Tonight’s mic is live music, and though Jack doesn’t dislike the poetry readings, something about music has so much more gravity to it. It feels real in a way that poetry feels cosmic and hard to touch.  


Toward the front corner, atop a little two foot stage with barely enough room to stand, let alone play instruments, a tiny blonde man stands next to woman and a cello. He’s got an accent which Jack hears right away, and it seems as though the blonde is trying to convince the crowd something, by the way he croons softly at them. The kid’s face is that strange ageless kind that leaves Jack wondering just how old he is. The young Asian woman behind the cello patting away a rhythmic melody, bow held between her teeth. The dense audience watches with a rapt attentiveness that is almost entirely unique to the Tub. They love their local bands, almost more than the booze. 

  
Jack pushes to the bar as politely as possible in such a well occupied space. The bar is a long and over-populated stretch of wood that maybe once had a more natural varnish, now though It is stark white, an obvious nod to the porcelain bathtub logo above the pub’s entrance. It only sometimes smells of the spray paint that must have been used to drench the thing. It sometimes has a sticky texture, which Jack can never tell if it's from a lack of cleanliness, or the paint job.

The bartender is shirtless, again, his hair tied back in a messy bun with a pair of American flag sunglasses tucked in even though it’s closer to nine than eight and the sun has been down for three hours at least. He’s got a manic smile, which would suggested to Jack that he’s been sampling his own product. 

  
"Hey uh, bartender" Jack says in way of getting the man's attention. It’s closer to a mumble than a shout but the man hears him nonetheless.

  
"Hey you Jack man!" the bartender is shouting, grabbing Jack's hand in a strange bro shake that almost pulls Jack over the bar top.

  
"Hi, Shitty" it had taken Jack four months of weekly visits to get over calling the bartender 'Shitty'. During that time he had called him Mr. Knight, and it had driven the bartender insane. "Call me Shitty, Shits, Mr. Crappy or any variation you care to create, Jack, or I swear to some higher power I'll hug you or something". A chilling threat, Jack had thought, considering the man was often shirtless, or pantsless if the night got particularly lit. 

  
"Shitty, did they introduce themselves?" Jack asks, motioning to where the duo start up another song. This one is recent, and the blonde moves to an electric keyboard that is balanced precariously atop the stage. 

  
"Yeah, Porcelain Bunny or something like that" Shitty says as he pours Jack a glass of a rather frightening combinations of fluids. "Tub juice on the Tub, Jacko" Shitty sloshes half of it onto the counter as he sets it before Jack, dashing to the left to catch a pair of people who just walk up to the bar.

  
Jack sneaks a glass of water from over the edge as Shitty shouts something incomprehensible from down the bar. The woman next to him leans in, her cherry scented breath cloying in the close space. 

"You gonna keep that this week?" she asks. She’s another regular, though Jack doesn’t know her name. He slides her the glass as he walks back toward his usual table.

Attention returning back to the front corner, the blonde is laughing between songs, his smile disarmingly radiant under the floodlights.

“Alright ya’ll, we have one more for you. Ya’ll  have been awesome, we have been Acrylic Rabbit, thank you have a great night!”

The woman starts plucking at a guitar, the [melody](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ioqhEy9Y864&list=PLUWCxzxE9GxNOgLoJVElkj2BdtXauGiHe&index=4) floating, soft and not yet defined by anything. Its these moments that keep Jack coming back, the when no one is sure exactly where the song is going to go. The blonde smiles, softly, as though even he isn’t sure. 

_ I am neon, cold neon, not a mystery. _

Jack usually writes in his notebook as he listens, so that he can capture the in-the-moment feelings that he gets. George calls it stealing a snapshot, clipping a piece of time so that it can be shared, much later, and in the print. Jack cannot pull his eyes away from the stage, even as he feels them close under the melody. 

_ All I’ve ever known is, how to be alone, it comes naturally _

The song isn’t rapture, or really anything that Jack would describe in such a sure way. The blonde sings, and he is between places. The audience sways, some of them sing along when they know the words, but Jack only hears the lyrics wash over him, and the constant guitar. He isn't really sure what to think, but he thinks loves what he hears.

_ I’m out of sight, I’m out of mind, alone in Tokyo _

Jack smiles, thinking how accurate the lyrics are. Not that they are never relevant when he listens to other bands, even, but its like the blonde knows what he’s doing to the audience. Even while he smiles his unassuming, startlingly white smile, he has them captivated. 

_ You’re out of reach, wrong place wrong time, alone in Tokyo. _

Too soon the song is drifting away, pulling back within itself, and Jack is forced to look down toward the notebook clutched in his hands. The pen is crushed in a tight fist, slick with sweat. Before Jack allows himself to lose his track he writes a few lines, corrects the duo’s name in the line. In front of him the crowd are applauding as the pair say their goodbyes and begin to bundle their things away. The crowd by the bar thickens, but Jack sees Shitty sneak over to speak with the pair as they pack. 

Jack has only a moment to hesitate before his legs carry him across the bar almost without his prompting. He elbows through, walking amongst the tables until he’s within earshot of the trio. It looks as though the woman and Shitty are flirting, the blonde smiling but looking away. He catches Jack’s eye and smiles. For a moment Jack freezes in place. 

Lucky for him, the blonde doesn’t notice. “Hello” he says, “I’m Eric Bittle.”

“Hi, Jack. I just wanted to compliment you on a great performance tonight.” This gets the blonde, Eric, laughing. 

“Oh please, you’re making me blush.” He’s serious, as his cheeks and the top of his nose flush red. Jack wonders if he isn’t actually aware of how amazing his voice is. “But I really appreciate that, thank you Jack.”

Behind him Shitty is dashing back to the bar, much to the relief of the two other haggard looking bartenders. They both, thankfully, have their shirts on. 

“Well, it was nice meeting you Jack.” Eric offers his hand, Jack takes it without a second thought. His is small, entirely encapsulated by Jack’s own. 

“Nice meeting you, Eric.”

“Oh, call me Bitty, my friends do.” He replies, holding onto Jack’s hand maybe longer than is entirely necessary. The smile of his is no less potent in frequent doses. It would be intoxicating if he didn't look so unintentional about it. At the moment, Jack can sneak away with himself in tact. 

“Ahem” the woman behind Eric says, elbowing him in the side.   
“Yeah yeah,” Eric says, but his eyes are on Jack without fail. 

“Maybe I’ll see you again?” He asks. The accent of his not as thick as Jack had previously thought. They both smile like fools. 

“Maybe you will.” 

Jack knows he’ll be here next thursday, and the thursday after that. As long as he can hear Bitty sing again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading chapter one of whatever this is going to be! I have no idea when a second chapter will be out, I am still not sure what I am doing with this.


End file.
